The Perfect Couple
by Jeanie205
Summary: Her friends are always telling Clarke that she and Bellamy are "The Perfect Couple," even though she keeps reminding them that they aren't a couple at all. So when she sees a way to make use of all that "perfection," Clarke decides to jump in both feet first. But after a while she finds that pretending to be in love with Bellamy Blake isn't really any fun at all.


If she hadn't decided to treat herself to some lowlights, none of it would have happened. But life had been a little dreary lately and Clarke was in a slump, so she'd felt the need for a little somethin' somethin' to spice things up. Of course, when she'd mentioned this Raven, _she'd_ suggested a random hookup, but Clarke had just rolled her eyes and called the salon.

It was while she was under the dryer that she picked up the magazine, the kind of rag that usually made her gag. This one was called _Couple Heaven_ , and it had been left on the next chair by a less discriminating customer.

Not that she had to read it just because it was there, of course. She could easily have gotten up to look for another mag, or to grab her phone, or even spent those ten minutes doing absolutely nothing but letting her foiled tresses dry. But Clarke was at the same time too lazy to move and too restless to sit there twiddling her thumbs.

So _Couple Heaven_ it was.

She was leafing through it desultorily when suddenly her hand froze and the words seemed to jump off the page at her.

 _Are You the Perfect Couple?_

It was words "the perfect couple" that had caught her eye. A phrase that she'd heard all too often of late. Generally from her friends, and _always_ preceded by "You and Bellamy make…"

She occasionally wondered what the hell they were all thinking. She and Bellamy were friends _,_ for god's sake. _Good_ friends. And since her track record with relationships sucked, why the fuck would she ever want to risk that friendship for something she was so bad at?

And at least she _had_ a track record, lousy as it was. Because as far as she knew, Bellamy had no record at all, track or otherwise. Bellamy was a blank slate.

Women? _Hell_ , yes. He couldn't look like he did and not have them throwing themselves at him every damn day. And sometimes - although lately, she'd noticed, less often - he took them up on it. But as for real girlfriends? Well, in the six years Clarke had known him she couldn't remember a single one.

So, nope, Clarke wasn't stupid enough to risk her excellent relationship with Bellamy Blake just because Jasper thought they looked good together. Or because Raven said they were both hopeless nerds. Or Miller insisted they had the same stupid sense of humor.

Or even because all their friends had paired off, and lately, in group settings, she and Bellamy had begun gravitating toward one another, having their own good time while the others were focused on "togetherness." If they even bothered to show up at all.

Clarke turned back to the magazine, snorting contemptuously as she wondered how deep the writer had had to dig through a pile of stale clichés to come up with that cheesy title.

What the hell was it, anyway? Some kind of quiz? _Answer here to see if you and your sweetie are the perfect match?_ Ugh! She'd been skimming the page, half-heartedly searching for the questions through glazed eyes, when she suddenly realized there _were_ no questions because it wasn't a quiz at all. It was a contest. A contest with a prize.

A big prize.

A _very_ big prize.

 _Holy shit!_

Clarke's eyes bugged out when she saw the number.

She began to fume. How fucking unfair was that! Not only were these people lucky enough to find and maintain the _perfect_ relationship, but now they had the chance to win all that cash. What was the old saying? Oh, yeah. _Them that has, gets._

She sighed. Never mind the damn relationship, she'd just like to have the money. Her mom hadn't really objected to her getting an MFA instead of an MD, but she _had_ balked at paying for it. So Clarke had had to take out a truckload of life-draining loans. Now she was done and trying to get her graphic design business going, but clients didn't exactly grow on trees. The student loan payments were sucking her dry.

And if it were bad for her, she suddenly realized, she couldn't imagine what Bellamy must have to look forward to when he finally finished his dissertation the following spring. Even with the two or three part-time jobs he'd always worked, and then the assistantships, he'd still had to take out loans to pay for his BA and MA, and later on, his living expenses. And that was…what? Nine years' worth? Ten?

Clarke shuddered to think about how much money he must owe by now.

And that's when she _really_ got mad. It was _Bellamy_ who could use that cash, she thought, not the Mary Sue and Gary Stu who were bound to end up winning it.

Bellamy, so hard-working, so determined to succeed.

Bellamy, who had taken the lemons that life had dished out to him and learned how to make the best damn vodka lemon drop on the planet.

Clarke exhaled in frustration.

 _And that's when the glimmer of an idea came to her._

Her mind wrapped itself around that idea so quickly that soon it became a plan. And then a project.

In seconds, she'd flipped up the dryer and jumped off the chair, suddenly and unaccountably energized.

"Hey, Lulu! Let's get going. I got things to do."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Are you out of your mind?" Bellamy's lips had settled into a frown before he even got out the last word.

Clarke's brows drew together in confusion. Once it had come to her, she'd rushed right over to tell Bellamy, absolutely certain that he'd see what a great idea it was. And now…this.

"Bellamy, did you happen to notice the number of zeroes in that cash prize? Are you saying you couldn't use the money?"

Bellamy huffed out a laugh as he shook the magazine in her face - the one she'd pilfered from _Lulu's Cuts 'n' Color_. "I'm saying that this is a contest to find the perfect couple, and in case you haven't noticed, Clarke, you and I are not a couple."

She dismissed his concerns with an impatient wave of her hand. "Minor detail. I mean, _you_ know we're not a couple, and _I_ know we're not a couple, but the people from _Couple Heaven_ magazine have no fucking clue!"

Bellamy settled into his "inquisitor" stance then, the position he always took when he was engaged in debate with Clarke or one of their other friends. Legs spread apart, arms folded across his chest, mouth pursed into a look that said he knew the real truth of whatever the hell it was they were discussing.

Clarke had always thought it was adorable…and hot. But then there was hardly a look or a position in which Bellamy Blake did not look hot.

"And what about being sued for fraud? This is a contest for _engaged_ couples. I imagine the magazine people will expect a wedding to wrap up the proceedings."

She shrugged. "People break up for all sorts of reasons. Maybe you had a piece on the side that I didn't know about," she added cheekily.

Clarke laughed at his expression of outrage.

"Okay," she conceded. "No cheating involved. We just…grew apart."

Bellamy huffed, looking down at her with a wry smite. "I don't think that one's really feasible either."

Clarke studied him, wondering just how many times she'd seen that expression of fond affection.

"Come here," she said, grabbing his hand abruptly and pulling him across the room to where a large mirror hung next to the door. She held onto his hand as they stood side by side, studying their reflection. His dark curls topping her blonde waves by just the perfect number of inches.

She watched a reluctant smile bloom on his face.

"We do look damn good together," he laughed, dropping her hand and stepping back slightly to wrap his arms around her from behind.

"We do," she agreed. And added, with just a touch of off-hand embarrassment, "Everyone's always saying so. And we get along great, too. So…why not try to use that to make us some much-needed cash."

Behind her, Bellamy sighed deeply, his warm breath fluttering across her cheek. Clarke felt her reaction ripple up her spine. In her enthusiasm, she'd forgotten that she usually tried not to get too close to Bellamy because she was not exactly unaffected by his nearness.

Well, she thought, it was time to gird her loins. If they succeeded in being accepted as contestants, she was probably going to be spending a lot of time wrapped up in his arms.

They studied each others' faces in the mirror for a moment longer until Bellamy finally chuckled and shook his head.

"Okay," he said, "you win. What do we have to do?"

If Clarke hadn't been nearly twenty-five and considered herself too old for childish outbursts, she might have squealed with delight. As it was, she just squeezed his arms and said, "We write a letter and submit it to the magazine."

"What kind of letter?"

"About our relationship."

"Oh. Well, I hope you're going to take care of that because I have a ton of work to do."

Clarke nodded and pulled her tablet from her large carryall.

"I'll do it right now and then you can take a look at it."

Silence reigned for the next hour as Bellamy sat at his desk working on his dissertation while Clarke perched on the couch, laboring to produce the perfect letter to introduce the perfect couple. Something the editors of _Couple Heaven_ would buy.

When Bellamy looked up at last, stretching his arms and legs from their cramped positions, she decided to give her efforts a test drive.

"Here," she said, handing over her tablet. "Tell me what you think."

She tried not to anticipate his reaction, but when she saw the frown and heard the guffaw, Clarke's defenses went up.

"What?" she asked testily.

"Come on, Clarke. Is anyone really going to believe this?" He began to read aloud. " _From the moment we met, Bellamy and I knew we were meant for each other. That we'd finally met our soulmate."_

"What's wrong with that?" she objected. "Isn't that how perfect couples know they're…well…perfect?"

"Yeah, well maybe in some fairytale, but I don't think it works like that in the real world." His face softened. "At least…it doesn't work for us."

She sighed. "Well, what will then?"

"Let me give it a try," he said. "I need a break anyway."

Clarke nodded, wondering how he could possibly top her efforts when she'd thrown in every "perfect couple" cliché she'd ever observed, heard about, or even just imagined. But Bellamy typed steadily and a mere twenty minutes later he was printing off a copy for her to read.

 _Clarke and I pretty much hated each other from the moment we met six years ago. I thought she was a stuck-up princess and it was no secret that she didn't like me at all… I thought every lover she ever chose was a terrible mistake, while she told me over and over again that I was emotionally stunted and had a fear of commitment… It took us a while to really get to know one another, but when we finally did, we noticed that we understood each other better than anyone else ever had… Clarke became the kind of friend that I could absolutely rely on, the one person that I knew without question would always come through for me… Clarke is brilliant and beautiful, caring and funny, and I can't imagine my life without her._

Clarke looked up from her reading, feeling a little shell-shocked. "But…but…this is about us."

Bellamy nodded. "Yep. Who else should it be about?" Then he added with a grin, "When concocting a cover story, always stick as close as possible to the truth."

"Okay," she said, not quite convinced but willing to trust his judgment. "Send it in."

XXXXXXXXXX

As enthusiastic as she'd been, Clarke had always known that the odds were against them. So when Bellamy texted a couple of weeks later to say they'd actually been accepted as one of the 20 contestants in The Perfect Couple contest, she was floored.

 _Shit! This was actually happening_.

By the time she got to Bellamy's place, he'd already printed out the projected agenda and was pacing the floor.

"A brunch! They're coming for a brunch!"

"Who's coming?"

"The hack who dreamed up this stupid contest, plus her boss. They've given us a few dates to choose from."

"Are they all impossible for you? School conflicts?"

He shook his head, "No, but neither of our places is equipped for throwing a brunch party. What the hell do you serve at brunch, anyway?"

"We can do it at my place," she offered, but Bellamy laughed in her face.

"In your studio, you mean? The one where you also sleep and occasionally eat takeout? That place?"

Clarke knew he was right. Her apartment was a disaster, filled with art supplies, her drawings covering every surface. Bellamy's was better, if only because of the extra room that used to house Octavia before she moved out to the coast. And then Miller, before he'd moved in with his boyfriend. It was empty now, and Bellamy used it mostly for storage.

She looked up at him apologetically.

"Yeah, I know," he said, resigned. "We'll have to use this place. Come on, let's pick a date."

There were 19 other couples in the contest, so they'd managed to get a date that was still a month off, but as the day grew closer, Clarke began to feel panic licking at her heels.

When only a few days remained and they still hadn't made a plan, Clarke reluctantly decided that the time had come to call in reinforcements.

Of all the reactions she might have expected from Raven - confusion, concern, even condemnation - the one thing she hadn't prepared herself for was amusement.

Raven just couldn't seem to stop laughing.

"You know," she choked out between fresh bouts of glee, "you really didn't have to go to such extremes. You and Bellamy could have just gotten together the ordinary way. A good fuck session would have done it."

"This is _nothing_ like that, Raven. There is no fucking going on. Just a tiny little, uh, con to get our hands on some cash. Bellamy and I are not together!"

"You better not let the people from _Couple Heaven_ magazine hear that! And is that the name of a real magazine? _Quelle horrreur!"_

Clarke felt her eyes narrowing as her friend went off into fresh peals of laughter "Are you going to help me or not?" she demanded.

"Of course," Raven said, finally managing to stifle the giggles. Whaddya need?"

Clarke looked at her doubtfully. "What do you know about throwing a brunch?"

Despite her amusement, Raven was all organization when it came to figuring out a way to make the brunch happen. Bellamy wasn't home when they hit his place and Raven's brow rose to her hairline when Clarke produced her own key. But hell, she'd had that for ages.

"It's not just the brunch, you know," Raven said, eyeing the place candidly. "We gotta make it look like you live here, too."

Shit! She'd never even considered that. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

Raven's mouth twisted up into a wry little smirk. "Um, it's 2017, Clarke. How many engaged couples do you know who don't live together?"

"I'm sure there must be some," she protested.

"Well, sure," Raven agreed. "Those who don't live in the same city or have some religious or family objections. Any of that fit you?"

"No," Clarke said reluctantly.

"Don't worry," Raven patted her shoulder, "you don't have to actually move in with Bellamy. We just have to make it _look_ like you live here."

Clarke felt a sudden unexpected warmth, her cheeks heating and her heart racing at the unbidden picture of Bellamy and her living together in domestic bliss. She'd crashed on the couch there a few times, but never lately, never since Miller had moved out. Never since Bellamy had been living on his own. But she still remembered how he'd looked in the mornings, rumpled and wild-haired, searching for his glasses.

One time, the last time she'd stayed, he must have forgotten she was even there. Because he'd come into the living room dressed only in his boxers, unintentionally waking Clarke, who'd been clad only in a t-shirt and panties. They'd stared at each other for just a moment more than was comfortable, and when their gazes finally broke she hadn't been sure which of them was the more embarrassed. Bellamy had ducked his head and said he thought maybe he should get dressed.

She'd expected they'd probably laugh about it later, but somehow neither one of them had ever brought it up. She wondered why. And why her cheeks were heated just recalling it.

And why, while she had a key to the place, and came and went as she pleased, she'd never again stayed the night.

"You all right?" Raven asked, eyeing her carefully.

"Of course," she said. "Let's get on with it."

In the end, they moved in some things from Clarke's apartment. Not just clothes and toiletries but a few decorative items, so that the place reflected Clarke's personality, too. Anything that had to be displaced was tossed into Bellamy's unused second bedroom.

Bellamy came home just as they were finishing up. As he glanced around at all the changes, he gave Clarke a little half-smile.

"Was all this really necessary?" he asked mildly.

Clarke shrugged. "Raven thought it was. But don't worry, we can put it all back."

"No, no. The place looks…great." He turned to smirk at Raven. "I wouldn't want to spoil your careful staging. Are you sure you don't lead a double life as a CIA operative specializing in _legends?"_

"Haha. And…you're welcome."

"Yeah, thanks, Raven." Bellamy ducked his head in that way he had, and when his tongue came out to nervously wet his lips, Clarke's heart started its rapid pacing again.

 _Jesus! What the hell was wrong with her today?_

"Is there anything else," Raven asked, apparently mollified now that her efforts had been appreciated. "The menu?"

"Nah, I got that covered."

"You do?" Clarke was surprised.

"Yeah, well I may have…uh… called Octavia."

Clarke felt her jaw dropping as she heard Raven's guffaw.

"You didn't tell her about the…the project, did you?" Clarke asked nervously.

"Hell, no. Just that I might be, um, entertaining."

By now, Raven was laughing so hard that she'd thrown herself down on the couch, and Clarke's gratitude had been surpassed by her annoyance.

"Oh, hey, look at the time," she said drily, although there was no timepiece in sight. "Isn't Roan expecting you home?"

"And this is the thanks I get," Raven said, still wheezing slightly as she dragged herself off the sofa and headed for the door. She turned then, her hand on the doorknob.

"Oh, yeah, there is something else you may have forgotten about."

"And what's that?" It was Bellamy who asked.

"The ring."

When their faces wrinkled in confusion, Raven just rolled her eyes. "You are supposed to be engaged, aren't you?" she pointed out, shaking her head as turned the knob and stepped into the hall.

As she watched the door swing shut behind Raven, Clarke wondered how she could have forgotten something so important.

"I'll go to one of those cheap costume jewelry places tomorrow and get something," she said, thinking quickly, but Bellamy was already shaking his head.

"No," he said. "You can't wear a ring that looks like it's part of a Halloween costume."

Then he nodded as if he'd come to a decision. "Just a minute," he said, as he headed into his bedroom.

In a moment, he was back with a small box which he dropped into her hand unceremoniously.

"Here," he said gruffly. "You can wear this."

Clarke opened the box with suddenly shaking fingers to find a small filigreed ring with a flat dark red stone. The metal looked like some strange combination of silver and gold. She looked up at him, bewildered.

"It's called silver gilt," he told her, "but that's all I know about it. I'm not even sure what the stone is. It…belonged to my grandmother, my father's mother, and my mom thought I should have it. I haven't thought about it in years."

"I can't…I can't wear this," she said, when she was fully able to speak again. "It's a family heirloom."

Bellamy chuckled. "I really don't think that anything my family owns rises to the level of being called an 'heirloom'. Go ahead, try it on," he said, taking the ring out of the box and grabbing Clarke's hand.

Before she could object further, the ring was sitting on her finger. A perfect fit.

Clarke glanced up then, her mind in turmoil. But Bellamy wasn't looking at her. In fact, he seemed to be looking anywhere _but_ at her.

"So…do you think it'll be okay? If it's not good enough to be an engagement ring…uh, I mean, a pretend engagement ring…we can think of something…"

"No," she protested, grabbing at his arm, unwilling to let him think for even one second that there was anything about him that was _not good enough_. "No, Bellamy, it's perfect."

"Good," he said, with a soft little smile, finally returning her gaze.

"But you keep it for now," she added, slipping the ring off her finger and handing it back to him. "I should really get going anyway…"

"Or you could stay, we could order in, discuss the brunch menu, maybe watch some Netflix. It seems like I've hardly seen you since we got…uh…engaged." His lopsided smile was full of irony.

Clarke laughed happily. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"

Why not, indeed. Clarke realized with a sudden twist in her gut, that she couldn't think of a single thing she'd rather be doing than spending the evening with Bellamy.

Not a single thing.

XXXXXXXXXX

On the day of the brunch, Clarke arrived early, bringing more pictures to hang on the walls, new table linens and cutlery, and a mass of flowers to brighten up the place. She found Bellamy working on the last stages of his home-made sticky buns and the whole place was redolent of wonderful cooking aromas.

"What's that?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"The frittata. I'm keeping it warm in the oven. The buns go in just before they arrive. And I put the fruit salad you made into that glass bowl you brought over."

She opened the fridge and saw that Bellamy had also made a pitcher of his famous lemon drop martinis. Clarke knew that Mimosas or Bloody Marys were probably more traditionally "brunchy," but, hell, no one should leave this Earth without having one of Bellamy's lemon drops at least once.

Clarke had just remembered to put the silver gilt ring on her finger when she heard the knock at the door. Her shoulders tensed and she felt Bellamy's arms wrap around her firmly from behind.

"It's going to be fine, Clarke. Don't worry." He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss across her hair. "We got this."

By the time they finished eating, Clarke was wondering what the deal was with Roma, the staff writer who'd dreamed up the "Perfect Couple" contest in the first place. The woman had been making goo-goo eyes at Bellamy since she arrived, and she practically simpered when she heard that Bellamy had cooked the meal.

"A man who can cook! You're a lucky girl," Roma said, addressing Clarke and yet barely glancing at her. Instead she was studying Bellamy, who, Clarke had to admit, looked especially great today.

He'd gotten a haircut - just enough to tame the wildest curls. He'd also put in his contacts, and shaved his scruff, and dressed up a little in a button-down shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Clarke had been looking at Bellamy for years, and knew every version of him. But this, she had to admit, was Bellamy at his most gorgeous.

"I don't think frittata and a couple of buns is really such a big deal these days," Bellamy told Roma with a quiet smile. "Even for a guy."

He turned toward Clarke, reaching over to grab her hand. "Clarke is the one who made the table look so nice. She arranged all the flowers herself. In fact, she's the one who's responsible for everything that makes this place feel like home."

Even though she knew they were pretending, knew it was all an exaggeration, Clarke flushed with pleasure at his praise. He squeezed her hand and for just a moment she couldn't seem to tear her eyes from his.

Jack Sinclair, the features editor and Roma's boss, cleared his throat noisily.

"So you two have known each other for a long time, then. Since college. You started out as friends, is that right?"

Clarke smiled wryly. "I'm not sure you can really say we 'started out' as friends. We kinda hated each other at first."

"I never hated you, Clarke," Bellamy objected, his lip curling in amusement.

"No?" Clarke side-eyed him, afraid she'd get lost in his gaze all over again.

"So what turned the tide? What made you friends? When did you fall in love?"

"Clarke helped me out with some tough…personal situations." Bellamy answered this time, and Clarke knew immediately he was thinking about his mother dying. About his problems with Octavia. "And I realized she was someone I could count on, no matter what."

"So you finally became friends," Sinclair nodded, glancing at Roma, and Clarke saw that the writer was taking notes. There was also a small recording device on the table. As they'd been advised there would be.

"And what about you, Clarke? When did you realize that you and Bellamy had become friends?"

She shrugged. "I guess…when I knew it was important to me to help him out with those... situations…he was talking about. That it mattered to me how he felt. Then I knew we were friends."

"But what about love?" Roma was insistent. "When did you know you were perfect for each other?"

She and Bellamy had discussed the possibility of being asked that question. The answer they'd decided on was that it had happened so gradually that they couldn't put their fingers on any exact moment. A sentiment essentially stolen right out of Jane Austen.

There was her cue, and she opened her mouth to follow that script when she heard Bellamy's voice first.

"I'm pretty sure I remember when it happened," he said. "The moment that I knew. We'd had a terrible fight, a rip-roaring, let-it-all-hang-out kind of fight. I was so angry with her, but at the same time I hated being angry with her. I wasn't sure which was worse. The thing I was angry about, or being at odds with Clarke."

Bellamy paused and squeezed her hand as Clarke sat there, trying not to react, waiting to hear what he'd say next.

"Anyway, we were in the car later, and she just…she let me know she was sorry, and it was like a weight was lifted from me. I remember smiling at her…and the next thing I knew I'd hit a tree!"

" _What?"_ chorused Roma and Sinclair.

Bellamy laughed ruefully. "Yeah, it was an icy night and I hit a damn tree. Neither of us was hurt, and I didn't care at all that the car was totaled. But… that's when I knew," he ended softly.

And it had really happened, all of it, exactly as he'd said. The fight, the drive, the icy roads…and the tree. She, too, had been so happy that they'd resolved their differences, and so relieved that neither of them was hurt. They'd laughed and hugged, trying to keep warm while they waited on that icy road for a tow truck.

But why would he choose that incident…that happy _intimate_ moment between them … to create a story about his fake realization in their fake relationship. And then she remembered what he'd told her. _When you're creating a false story, stick as close to the truth as possible_. She didn't know exactly why, but his easy distortion of the truth of that moment hurt something inside Clarke's chest.

Just like with the "Clarke and Bellamy story" he'd submitted as their application, the magazine folks bought every word.

And why the hell not, when just for a second there, she'd nearly bought it herself?

"Well, I think we have everything we need for today," Sinclair declared a moment later, to Clarke's profound relief. "If we could just get a few more pictures?"

Clarke moved through the photo session feeling like she was on automatic pilot, hoping her smiles wouldn't turn out to be grimaces. As soon as their guests left, she returned the ring to the box and headed for the door.

"What…you're leaving?" Bellamy said, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "You don't want to maybe hang out a little today? Play cards? Watch some TV?"

But Clarke's heart was beginning to shred just a little with each new step in this game they'd been playing. She didn't think she could take any more right then.

"I think it went well," she said, putting on a bright smile. "But I've got some…stuff to do. Let me know if you hear from the magazine."

Bellamy nodded. "Sure," he said, and Clarke couldn't tell if the odd look on his face was more bewilderment or disappointment.

She didn't stick around long enough to find out.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was only a few days later that Bellamy texted her that they'd made it to the next round, a Friends and Family party, a dressy affair for which the magazine was footing the bill. Although they'd already explained to Sinclair that with no family members within a thousand miles, so their party would be for friends only.

Of course, no family didn't necessarily mean no problems _._ While it was true that they could avoid filling in Bellamy's sister and Clarke's mom about their dubious scheme, their friends would have to be not only informed but cautioned. The only bright spot was that Jasper Jordan, a loose cannon in the best of circumstances, would be out of town on party night.

"Not that I don't love Jasper," Clarke told Raven candidly when they met for lunch on the day of the party, "but you never know what the hell he might say, and I refuse to have him screw up Bellamy's chances of winning."

Raven nodded silently, looking thoughtful, as though she might be considering her next words. "How is Bellamy these days?" she asked carefully.

Clarke shrugged, turning away from Raven's keen, observant eyes. "Uh, I really haven't seen that much of him since the brunch."

"Why the hell not? You two are engaged, aren't you?"

"Come on, Raven. I don't need that shit from you."

But Raven rarely allowed herself to be deflected.

"What's going on, Clarke? You and Bellamy have been practically joined at the hip for over a year now, then you start this little con, and suddenly…what? You're not friends anymore?"

"Of course we are! We're just…busy, that's all. Hey," she said quickly, pulling out some bills and dropping them on the table, "I've got a million things to do but I'll see you tonight."

Clarke knew her abrupt departure would probably increase Raven's curiosity, and therefore her tendency to butt in, but at least she'd get a break from any more probing questions about why she hadn't seen much of Bellamy lately. Because if Raven kept pushing, she might have to admit that she'd been avoiding him.

Which was stupid, because she missed him like hell. But this con they were pulling was proving unsettling in ways that she'd never even considered. It had been her idea, and she was still bound and determined to go through with it and win that cash for Bellamy. She wasn't giving up. But somewhere along the line, pretending to love Bellamy…pretending to be _in love with_ Bellamy…had stopped being fun.

Bellamy picked her up that evening wearing a suit, the one he'd bought for interviews and academic functions. She'd helped him shop for it months ago, persuading him to buy a decent one, since it was going to be the only suit he owned for a while.

"You look beautiful," he said immediately, eyeing the black lace dress she hardly ever wore. Clarke felt herself flushing. Bellamy had sometimes complimented her on her appearance, but never so directly. And never had they been the first words out of his mouth.

"Yeah, well you don't look too bad yourself," she told him, smiling, striving for that light tone she'd never had to think about before. The one that used to come naturally, but now felt almost forced.

But Bellamy seemed not to notice. He just grinned and reminded her that that had been the point. "We're supposed to look perfect together, right?"

"Right," she agreed, unable to help the small jolt to her heart at the open fondness in his smile.

"Hey, I almost forgot." He paused beside the passenger door, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out the silver gilt ring and slip it onto her finger. "The cat would have been out of bag in a flash."

And she was once again reminded that none of this was real That no matter how fondly Bellamy looked at her, or how many ways he complimented her, they weren't really engaged and they never would be.

They were friends, _good_ friends, and she was helping him out. And it had been her own damn idea. As she slid into the car, Clarke pulled herself together, determined to give a first-rate performance.

 _Couple Heaven_ had reserved a private room in a fancy downtown restaurant, and by the time Clarke and Bellamy arrived, everyone else had already gathered. She grinned when their friends rose as a group to applaud the arrival of the "perfect couple," but the smile dropped off her face almost immediately.

"Shit!" she hissed out of the side of her mouth. "Jasper's here. I thought he was going out of town."

"Change of plans. Don't worry," Bellamy said under his breath, as they seated themselves in the center of a long table. "Monty read him the riot act. He'll behave."

"You _knew_?" Clarke couldn't help the accusatory tone. He should have told her.

Bellamy shrugged. "It would have just been something else for you to worry about."

Her rebuttal was cut short when Sinclair, on her left, insisted on rising and toasting them.

As they ate and drank their way through the evening, the editor asked for stories about their relationship. Clarke had worried about this part, since there really _was_ no relationship, but somehow or other their friends had no trouble with it at all. In fact, the anecdotes kept tumbling out so fast, one on top of the other, that Clarke was astonished. Were there really that many stories in the book of Bellamy and Clarke?

"Did they happen to mention they hated each other when they first met?" Miller asked with a cheeky grin as they reached the dessert course.

"I believe that might have come up," Sinclair confirmed with a genial smile.

"Yeah, I figured it might. Except, you know, it's not true. They were attracted to each other right from the beginning, but I'm pretty sure neither of them wanted to be. So they got snarky and pissy. Defense mechanism. But we all knew. Or at least, I did."

"Yeah, Miller, you know everything," Bellamy scoffed, tossing a balled-up napkin at his former roommate.

"No, that's true," Monty agreed matter-of-factly, while the others nodded and Clarke just gaped. They were really laying it on a little thick.

"But then they started teaming up for trivia nights, and game nights," Harper added, "and they dropped the hostility. I don't know if you know this, but these two are such nerds. What one doesn't know, the other one does. Of course, if they happen to disagree about some trivial point that no one else gives a crap about, then watch out. The fur will fly!"

Clarke grinned, side-eyeing a laughing Bellamy, and he flung his arm around her, pulling her into a spontaneous half-hug.

And maybe that's what gave Jasper the idea.

Because almost immediately she heard the distinctive sound of tinkling glass, of a spoon being struck against the side of a crystal tumbler. Clarke could see Maya trying to get Jasper to stop, but to no avail. And then the others shrugged and began to follow suit.

"Well?" Sinclair said, smiling.

"Yeah," Roma seconded, putting down her pen and picking up her phone. "How about a little smooch for the camera?"

"Uh, isn't that spoon-on-the-glass thing just for a wedding?" Clarke asked weakly, but then she felt a tug on her shoulder, and turned to find Bellamy smiling down at her.

"I really don't think one little kiss for the camera is going to kill us, Clarke," he said, cupping her cheek with one hand and pulling her toward him with the other.

"No," she said breathily, "I suppose not."

And then his lips were sliding across hers.

As kisses went, it wasn't much. It lasted only a few seconds, ending at almost the exact moment that Clarke was about to get lost in it. She sighed when Bellamy pulled away, suddenly recalling where she was and why she'd just been kissed.

It was when she looked around and saw the soft looks on the faces of all her friends that Clarke knew she was well and truly fucked.

"I think I got a great picture," Roma said, pleased with herself. Completely unaware of the atmosphere in the room.

Sinclair may have sensed something, though, because he cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"So I noticed your unusual ring, Clarke. I wanted to ask about it the last time we met, but there wasn't time. And about the proposal, too, of course. How did that happen?"

"Well, actually, that ring belonged to my grandmother," Bellamy began, and suddenly Clarke could stand it no longer. Could no longer sit there and wait for Bellamy to take one of their intimate moments of friendship and _massage_ it into some taradiddle of a proposal story.

Distorting their lives by just enough to fit the requirements.

She stood so abruptly she nearly knocked over her chair.

"I'm so sorry, everyone. I think I must be getting a..a migraine. Mr. Sinclair," she turned to him, "you'll just have to wait until next time - uh, if we make it that far - for the proposal story. Sorry, but, um, gotta keep some of the mystery, right?" she ended, feeling completely idiotic.

At that moment, Clarke would have been happy to have the earth open up and swallow her whole.

"I'll take you home," Bellamy said quietly.

"Yeah, that would be good."

With barely a wave to her friends, she practically ran out of the restaurant, her forward progress impeded only by the height of her heels. Bellamy was quiet as they drove back to her place, for which she was grateful.

He insisted on walking her to the door, although ordinarily she would have just jumped out of the car and seen herself in. But tonight Bellamy wouldn't hear of it.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, when they reached her door.

"Sorry for what? It's not your fault I got a migraine."

"Clarke, you've never had a migraine in your life. I'm sorry for upsetting you."

"What?" Okay, maybe the migraine was a ruse, but nothing was his fault. "How do you think you've upset me?"

"By…kissing you."

"What? No, no. That didn't upset me." _At least not the way you think._

"If you say so." Suddenly he could hardly meet her eyes.

"I _do_ say so. I absolutely say so." Clarke grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her. "Nothing you did tonight has upset me, Bellamy. I'm not mad at you. I promise."

"Okay," he nodded.

This was crazy! If she didn't do something pretty quick, they were both going to go to bed feeling miserable. On impulse, she threw her arms around him. Bellamy responded immediately, pulling her close and murmuring into her hair.

"I would never want to make you upset," he said, and unaccountably, tears stung her eyes.

"You couldn't," she reiterated, squeezing him tight. "I'm just tired."

Clarke reached up and kissed his cheek. "Let me know if you hear from the magazine."

Without giving him a chance to respond, she unlocked the door, and slipped inside her apartment.

XXXXXXXXXX

When she heard from Bellamy only two days later, Clarke didn't know whether to laugh or cry. They'd made it into the finals, one of three couples to be given an all-expense-paid weekend at a coastal resort a hundred miles away. This was also the first time they'd actually get to meet their competition, since all three couples would be participating in this round together.

The winner of the contest would be announced at the end of the weekend.

Clarke told herself she was happy they'd made it this far, because even if they didn't win, the runners-up still got some cash, and she was determined that Bellamy should end up with something for going along with her crazy scheme, no matter how small the amount.

But if she were being completely honest, what she was truly happy about was that it was all nearly over. Soon, she would no longer be required to pretend to be in love with Bellamy. Or more accurately, she would no longer have to _pretend_ to be pretending to be in love with Bellamy.

God, what a mess. And she knew she had no one to blame but herself.

They drove down on a Saturday morning ten days later, making it in just over two hours. The location was a seaside resort, chosen for its convenient location, comfortably close to the homes of all the finalists. It was the kind of place that Clarke had stayed at many times growing up, on those annual vacations she'd taken with her parents in the happy years before her father died.

But from the way he gaped at his surroundings, Clarke was certain Bellamy had never stayed at such a luxurious place, with its immediate beach access, individual cabanas, and multiple pools for anyone who didn't love swimming in the ocean.

Personally, Clarke wasn't that fond of swimming in either the ocean or a pool. As a kid, she'd just never taken to it, no matter how many times her mother had sent her for swimming lessons, or her father had dragged her with him to the pool at the country club. Clarke's idea of a relaxing vacation at the beach involved a lounger on the sand, where she could listen to the waves crash while she read the latest thriller.

But Bellamy? She couldn't help smiling as he ran past her, crashing right into the ocean and beginning to stroke powerfully through the waves. She remembered him telling her that he'd once attended Y camp on a scholarship, which is where he'd learned to swim. An activity he'd apparently taken to with the same fierce drive toward excellence that he displayed with everything he did.

Ever since she'd known Bellamy he'd been an all-or-nothing kind of guy. He either did things well - or he didn't do them at all. Clarke had always figured that personal relationships fell into the "not at all" category. That Bellamy didn't think he'd be good at them, so he didn't bother trying.

Except for friendships, of course. Bellamy was an excellent friend. The best she'd ever had, she realized, with no little irony.

Roma and Sinclair appeared with the other two couples just as she was settling into her book.

"You didn't see the note in the agenda about meeting by the cabanas?" Sinclair inquired cheerfully.

"No, sorry," she lied, using her hand to shield her sunglassed eyes from the sun as she peered up at the man from her lounger. Of course she'd seen the note, but Bellamy had been so keen to get into the water that she hadn't seen the point in making him wait. "Guess I must have missed it."

Sinclair narrowed his eyes at her, his small half-smile telling her he didn't believe a word. He turned to introduce the others just as Bellamy arrived, looking like a Greek god arising from the ocean. Beaming with pleasure from the sunshine, and the exercise, and the sheer novelty of his surroundings. Grabbing everyone's attention without even trying.

"Hello," he said to the others, holding out a wet hand, and then retracting it as he laughed at himself ruefully. "I'm Bellamy. I guess you've already met Clarke."

"I was just about to make the introductions," Sinclair said. "Clarke, Bellamy, meet Biff and Cookie," indicating a clearly well-heeled white couple, "and this is Taye and Imani."

Good, a little diversity. Although both Taye and Imani looked solidly middle-class. Clarke would have bet her left tit that of the six of them, only Bellamy came from a background that could even come close to being described as "underprivileged."

She also began to wonder if she and Bellamy fit into some other required demographic. Were they "the biracial couple"? No matter. If they won, she wouldn't care how Bellamy got the money.

The rest of the day was filled with group activities, and while Clarke tried her best to be a good participant, it was Bellamy, with his gift of easy friendship, that fit in effortlessly. She also couldn't fail to notice that Roma was once again giving Bellamy the eye.

Clarke had been wondering for weeks if the writer had similarly tried to hit on the male halves of other "perfect couples," but if so, it must have been some of those contestants who'd fallen by the wayside. Because neither Biff nor Taye seemed to be on Roma's radar. Only Bellamy.

She began to study the interplay between them, as though she were not actually a part of the group but somehow outside it, and it seemed to her that Bellamy wasn't exactly rebuffing Roma's advances.

And really, why the hell should she expect him to?

As Clarke sipped her third margarita, she remembered that it wasn't like they were _actually_ engaged. Like Clarke had any _real_ claim on Bellamy. Even if they won, there was that convenient breakup that they'd agreed on. The "drifting apart" scenario. Then he could start fucking Roma with no worries whatsoever.

Clarke didn't remember much after her fourth margarita. Maybe a few snapshots in her head of Bellamy carrying her back to their room and putting her to bed. Of his bewildered face as he tucked her in.

She thought she heard him say her name as he brushed back her curls from her sweaty face. Whispering, "Clarke, I don't understand."

She awoke in the middle of the night with a raging thirst and a frantic need to pee. Her head pounded as she scrambled off the bed and ran for the bathroom, replacing the gallons of pee she produced by gulping down a like amount of tap water. When her bodily fluids seemed in balance again, Clarke dug out some Advil and popped two into her mouth before she returned to bed.

It was only then that she noticed she'd been alone in that bed. Her heart sank. Was Bellamy even now banging Roma in some equally luxurious room down the hall? But then she heard his soft voice asking, "Are you all right, Clarke," and realized he was sitting by the sliders, clad only in his boxers, staring out at the moonlit ocean.

"I'm…okay, I guess. Why are you sitting there in the dark? You should," she swallowed convulsively, forcing out the words, "come to bed. Get some sleep."

"I will," he said, giving her the barest of nods as he twisted in her direction. "You…go ahead. I'm okay here for the moment."

Clarke crawled back into the bed, and even though her bladder was empty and her headache showed signs of subsiding, she felt worse than ever. Was he so averse to her now that he couldn't even bear to share this enormous king-size bed with her?

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her head turned away from Bellamy.

"For what?" came the soft reply.

"For…getting drunk and probably ruining our chances to win this thing."

She heard his tiny chuckle. "Nah. Most of them were pretty hammered."

"Except for you," she said.

She could almost feel his shrug from across the room.

"Well, you know that's not really my thing. Point is, I don't think any of it matters with the contest." He paused. "Goodnight, Clarke."

"Goodnight, Bellamy."

So maybe she hadn't screwed things up after all, she thought as she drifted off. But then why did she still feel like she wanted to cry?

When Clarke woke again, the sun was shining and Bellamy was still sitting in that chair looking out over the ocean. Or maybe he was actually sittingthere _again_ , since he was now dressed in shorts and a shirt, and it looked like he'd already showered.

"You're awake," he said, turning his head, as though he had some kind of sixth sense that had told him she was no longer sleeping. "Just enough time to get ready for breakfast."

"Right," she said, shifting out of the bed on a yawn. "Did you…get any sleep," she asked as she padded toward the bathroom.

"Some," he said, smiling a little ruefully. "Always hard in an unfamiliar bed."

 _Yeah_ , she thought as she felt the soothing hot water spray over her head. _Or in a bed with someone you'd rather wasn't there._

When they finally made it to breakfast in their small private dining area, the first thing Clarke grabbed for was the coffee pot.

"Feeling okay this morning?" Sinclair asked kindly. "Maybe we can finally get that story out of Bellamy if you are."

"Story?" Clarke was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, last night he was going to tell us about how he proposed, and…well…to put it bluntly, you kind of went a little nuts."

"Oh." Clarke's heart sank but then she reminded herself that it was almost over. "Well, go ahead, Bellamy, tell them," she muttered, sipping her coffee. "Which story did you decide on this time?"

"There's…more than one proposal story?" Roma asked with a frown _._

"No, of course not," Clarke said, appalled at her lack of discretion. "I was just teasing. Go ahead, Bellamy."

But Bellamy just sat there, his tired eyes studying her carefully.

"No, I don't think I will, Clarke. I'd like to know what you meant by that remark, too. What did you mean, _which story_?"

"I didn't mean anything. Please, Bellamy. We've come so far." Her eyes pleaded with him not to blow it now.

But he was already shaking his head. "Nope, I don't think I want to do this anymore."

"Bellamy," she hissed under her breath. "Remember why we're doing this. The money."

But he didn't even bother to lower his voice.

"Nope, that's why _you_ were doing it, Clarke. I was doing it so I could spend time with you. That's the only reason. But that doesn't seem to be working out too well, because everything I do seems to upset you, and I'm not even sure why that is. So why don't we just cut the crap, give up on this little drama, and you tell me why it is you're so pissed off."

Clarke studied his expression, noted his determination, and thought, _Fuck it!_ It's all over now anyway. And suddenly, it felt so good to be able to give way to her anger.

"You want to know why I'm pissed, Bellamy?" she asked, jumping out of her seat so quickly she nearly spilled her coffee all over herself. But Clarke didn't notice the coffee. And she'd forgotten all about the others sitting at that table. All she saw was Bellamy. All she felt was her grievance. Everything that she'd been holding in for weeks.

"Yeah," he said, rising to face her. "Lay it on me. What terrible thing have I done? Because I'll tell you something, Clarke. I've been feeling pretty much like shit myself almost since we started this thing."

"Yeah, that's been really obvious, since you haven't minded making a…a mockery of our friendship."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bellamy's soft voice was rising in frustration.

"I'm talking about the tree! The day we hit the tree with the car! And you just conveniently used that to…to claim that that's the day you knew you were in love with me. Why couldn't you just have made something up? Why did you have to use something real from our friendship to bolster your lie? And don't tell me that a good cover story sticks to the truth because that's bullshit!"

Clarke's breasts were heaving with the effort to get it all out without bursting into tears, and she gasped for air.

Bellamy had turned pale beneath his tan skin and the room was deathly silent as she waited for his answer.

Finally he sighed.

"Did it ever occur to you, Clarke, that the reason it was so easy to answer that question - the question about when I first realized I loved you - was not because a good cover story sticks to the truth. It was because that _was_ the truth. That night, that incident, that moment, that's when I knew I was in love with Clarke Griffin and that there was _fuck all_ I could do about it,"

Clarke gaped at him, her legs trembling as she stood there. She grabbed onto the back of her chair for support.

"But…that's impossible."

"Impossible, is it? And how the hell would you know that?"

"Because you don't _do_ relationships. You've…you've never even had a girlfriend," she added accusingly.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry for confusing you by finally growing the hell up, but I really couldn't help it. And maybe the reason I've never had a girlfriend is that I've been in love with you for," he sighed, "a long time."

And right then, right at that exact moment, funny little fizzy bubbles started bursting inside Clarke's chest. Or at least, that's what it felt like.

But there was still something she didn't understand.

"But, then…why didn't you say something to me? All that time, all those nights we spent together, playing games, watching movies, and you never made a single move."

He shrugged. "You had just broken up with Lexa. It seemed like it would be…taking advantage of you. You were…vulnerable," he finished quietly.

Clarke huffed a small rueful laugh. "And do you want to know why Lexa and I broke up, Bellamy? Because of _you_. She said I spent too much time with you. That I cared about you more than my other friends. That she knew if she asked me to give up our friendship, yours and mine, that I wouldn't." She shrugged. "And she was right."

The room was still silent as they stared at each other, and then Bellamy heaved a sigh.

"Do you want to know what I worry about most when I remember I'm about to finish my dissertation? That in a few months I'll probably have my doctorate?"

Clarke shook her head, confused by the seeming change of subject

"The fact that I'm going to be getting a job somewhere that's not here. That I'm going to have to move from where I've been living for the past six years. Away from my apartment, away from my friends. Away from…you. And I've considered whether I maybe ought to just put it off for a semester. Or two. Stick around awhile. Stay where I am."

Clarke was appalled. "Oh, no, you can't do that. You've worked so hard. And…we can still be friends, even if you have to move."

He was already shaking his head. "But that's just it. I don't want a long-distance friendship with you, Clarke. I want you where I can see you all the time. And if I have to move…fifty, or a hundred, or…a thousand miles away, I don't know how I'd survive being that far from you.

Clarke inhaled sharply, her heart hammering. And before she could stop them, the words just tumbled out of her.

"Well, you know I work from home, so I could…" But her brain had finally caught up with her mouth and she stopped abruptly, keenly aware of exactly what she'd been about to suggest.

But it was too late.

"Could what?" Bellamy prompted, and it seemed like he was holding his breath.

"Move," Clarke pushed the word out in spite of her discomfiture. "I could move."

"And would you do that? Would you move to be with me?"

"Are you asking me to?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Yes, I am." Bellamy's voice was firm, but she could see his pulse hammering in his throat.

"Then, yes, I would." She sighed. "I will." She hadn't even had to think about it. "I don't want to think about being without you, either."

Bellamy grasped her hand, and his smile was like the sun coming out after a storm. "Clarke," he said softly, reaching up to caress her face.

All the time they'd been talking, they'd been so focused on one another that they'd forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Until Sinclair abruptly cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, his voice laced with amusement, "I don't think we need to ask any longer. I think we've just seen the proposal story."

Clarke laughed, her smile so wide her mouth hurt.

"Maybe you've seen some of it," Bellamy said, grinning at Clarke. "And we might even fill you in on the rest someday."

They ran then, hand in hand, out of the restaurant, along the sand, and back to their beachfront room where the very dark curtains could be drawn for maximum privacy. Within seconds they were kissing, open-mouthed and frantic, trying to make up for lost time. Clothes went flying around the room, because for some time to come they'd probably have little need for them. Eventually, they landed heavily on the bed.

"What time is checkout?" Bellamy murmured his question into her ear, one of his hands caressing her left breast and the other stroking between her legs.

"Noon." Clarke was capable of only one-word answers.

"And what time is it now?"

"Ten."

"Not nearly enough time," he muttered, moving over her, "but it will have to do."

XXXXXXXXXX

They couldn't win the contest, of course, since their entry had been fraudulent, but Jack Sinclair had liked Clarke and Bellamy so much, and thought their story so appealing, that they were offered even more money for the rights to do a feature on them in _Couple Heaven_ magazine.

It was intrusive, of course, and they weren't exactly crazy about the idea, but it paid off all their student loans, which meant that they didn't have to start their life together under a mountain of debt.

Their friends were thrilled for them, especially since, as it turned out, Bellamy found a great position less than twenty miles away, and he didn't have to move after all. Clarke still moved, though, right into Bellamy's flat, and they turned the extra bedroom into a studio for her design work.

Unbeknownst to them, Cookie and Biff - who ultimately lost the perfect couple contest to Imani and Taye - had videoed their entire conversation at breakfast that day. When they put it up on YouTube, it almost immediately went viral. Everyone who saw it wanted to know more about the would-be lovers, which created a built-in audience when the article came out in _Couple Heaven_. The editors there were…well…in heaven.

They even showed interest in doing a followup in five years. Clarke and Bellamy smirked and said, "Sure," because everyone knew the public's interest didn't last five minutes these days, never mind five years.

After the article came out, more than than one modeling agency contacted Bellamy to see if he might be interested in a different career path, but he laughed and told them all he thought he'd stick with academia. After Clarke let this slip to their friends, they teased him about it unmercifully, but Bellamy was so happy with his life he took the teasing completely in stride.

Clarke continued to patronize _Lulu's Cuts 'n' Color._ She figured she owed Lulu. Big time.

And she never did take off Grandma Blake's silver gilt ring.


End file.
